Between Us

Chapter One - The Invitation

I found them online. Their profile stated they were a couple seeking a third person to join their marriage. They were precise in their expectations.

"Live-in girlfriend, obligatory

Preferably between the ages of 23-28

No career-driven women—we will provide for you

Be willing to help tidy up during the day while we are at work

Good hygiene: We will arrange appointments for waxing, nails, and hair

Must be on birth control; we can provide if needed

A love for cooking is a plus

You'll have a chauffeur if we cannot drive you ourselves"

Three years ago, if someone had told me I'd consider something like this, I would've called them crazy and walked away. But three years ago, I wasn't homeless, living out of my car with no job and barely enough money to survive.

Three years ago, I met Kenny. He was handsome, charming, and kind—the kind of guy you dream of meeting. I ran into him at the supermarket, of all places, in the dairy aisle. I couldn't reach the last carton of skim milk on the top shelf, and when I looked for an employee, no one was in sight.

Just as I was about to settle for a different type, a tall stranger asked if I needed help. I didn't know him as Kenny then—just a man offering a kind gesture. He handed me the milk and even placed it in my cart, which I thought would be the end of our interaction. But then he asked me out, and I couldn't believe my luck. A tall, good-looking man who actually wanted to take me on a date, not just ask for my number for something less wholesome.

We fell in love quickly, completely swept up in the romance. It felt almost too good to be true—and, of course, it was.

Within a year, I'd moved out of my small apartment and into Kenny's luxurious condo. I sold all my furniture, thinking I didn't need my second-hand belongings when Kenny had everything so perfect, so expensive. He even convinced me to quit my job. I remember his words exactly: "No girlfriend of mine is going to work. I'll take care of you."

I loved my job, though—working as a product line coordinator for a major furniture distributor. It wasn't much, but it had given me purpose. I'd been there two years when I suddenly quit, heart heavy with the loss but telling myself it was a fair trade to be loved and cared for by Kenny.

And at first, it was. Lavish gifts, spontaneous trips, endless pampering. I felt like I was living in a dream. My $60,000 salary couldn't have given me this. Who would complain about being a stay-at-home girlfriend in a life like that?

But dreams can quickly turn into nightmares.

Kenny changed. Slowly at first. He became possessive, aggressive. He'd show up at the gym halfway through my workouts, claiming he was "just checking in," but it was always to make sure I wasn't talking to any men. Then came the day he beat a guy senseless in the locker area because he thought I was flirting. After that, it escalated—drunken nights of yelling, accusations, objects flying across the room. He wouldn't let me leave the house without interrogating me, convinced I was sneaking other men into his home. I became a prisoner.

I had no family to turn to, as I grew up in foster care, and I had no friends left. I'd isolated myself from everyone for him. I was completely alone, at his mercy.

June 17, 2023. The night he almost killed me. His fists left me with swollen eyes, a fractured rib, and a broken finger. He wouldn't take me to the hospital. Instead, he insisted he would "take care of me," keeping me locked inside, too weak to do anything but obey.